The Crap Commencement
by caramel729cucumber
Summary: This is a parody of "Lemony Snicket"'s book, The Bad Beginning. It is a glorious tale of joy, bliss, and misunderstanding.
1. Dear readers

_**The Crap Commencement**_

**AN: This is purely a work of fiction by **Tuskface** and myself, **caramel729cucumber**. It is also completely mad. Enjoy, and please review!**

Prologue

Dear Reader,

I am pleased to be able to inform you that the fanfiction you have just clicked on is extremely pleasant. It tells a happy tale about three very lucky children, even though they are not charming or clever, delight and satisfaction from the very first chapter of this fanfiction when the children are at the beach and receive terrible news continuing on through the entire story, good luck lurks at their heels. One might say they are magnets for fortune.

In this short fanfiction alone, the three youngsters encounter a selfless and appealing hero, silk attire, a disastrous fire, a suspected plot to steal their fortune, and warm porridge with brown sugar for breakfast.

It is my happy duty to write down these glorious tales, but there is nothing to stop you closing this webpage at once and reading something unhappy… if you prefer that kind of thing (I mean seriously, who prefers that kind of thing!?).

With all due respect,

_Tusky Cucumber _


	2. Kerplink, kerplunk

**_The Crap Commencement_**

**AN: Official part 1 of the highness that is our (that is, **Tusky **and my) collective mind. I apologise for the name of the chapter, which has no relevance to anything. Better get used to it, because the chapter names will be the random wanderings of my mind condensed into a computer keyboard. **

Kerplink, kerplunk 

The three Baudelaire children sat on the smooth white sands of Briny Beach. It was a sunny day, just the kind that the Baudelaires didn't like. Grumpy and putout, they sat sulking, watching the happy tourists go by, swimming and snorkelling in the clear blue seas.

Their parents never gave them permission to go alone to the seashore… but then, the Baudelaires never did listen to their parents. Old people were _too_ dull.

Briny Beach was crowded with tourists, and it was impossible to find a good place to lay one's blanket, so the Baudelaires had been forced to lay theirs half-submerged in the salty water.

Violet Baudelaire, the eldest, liked to skip, and she was right-handed, which has no relevance to the subject of this paragraph (which is different, children, from the subject of a sentence, an entirely separate kettle of grammatical fish). As she skipped, she was looking out at the horizon and thinking about an invention she wanted to build (emphasis on the _wanted_). Anyone who knew Violet well could tell she was attempting to think (something she found very difficult to do, due to her lack of mental competence), because her long hair was tied up in a ribbon to keep it out of her eyes. Violet did not have any kind of a knack for inventing and building useful devices – mainly, her creations were strange, broken heaps of metal that collapsed and lay smoking at her feet. Her brain was often filled with images of pulleys, levers and gears (unfortunately, these were, as said, just images), and she didn't want to be distracted by anything as trivial as her hair – although quite often she was. Her attention span was, shall we say, negligible. This morning, she was thinking about how to construct a device that enabled her to see clearly despite her short sightedness. She was thinking of calling it a "short sight correcting lense" she had not considered the existence of glasses, even though such a device sat upon the noble snout of the second oldest Baudelaire sibling.

Klaus Baudelaire, the only boy, liked to examine creatures in tide pools. It gave him a sense of companionship with his intellectual equals. Right now he was examining a large white and pink fish-like creature, which was blowing bubbles and appeared to be turning rather red. Pulling off his glasses to clean them – though of course he only wore them to give him the illusion of intelligence (notice _illusion_) – and suddenly that without their foggy screen before his eyes he could see that his new found aquatic acquaintance turned out to be his infant sister Sunny.

Sunny was the youngest Baudelaire, though you wouldn't have thought it. Being barely bigger than a duck, what she lacked in size she made up for with the size of her brain. And you could tell. Her head was, shall we say, a little more pronounced than most babies'. She had a _very_ large brain indeed, and a _very_ accommodating skull. Some of her favourite words included "floccinaucinihilipilification" (and this, dear reader, means "the act or habit of identifying something as worthless", an apt adjective for Sunny), "" (a small village in Wales), and "gack" (a word which here means "look at that mysterious figure emerging from the fog!"). As you can see, she was a highly perceptive two-month-old infant.

"GACK!" yelled Sunny through a stream of bubbles. Klaus pulled her out, unfortunately unbalancing himself, and slid headfirst into the warm caresses of the tide pool. Sunny fell with a comforting _plop_ onto the many folds of their fluffy, silky, multi-coloured, slightly ragged, holey, discoloured, mouldy, frankly quite disgusting, beach towel. The mysterious figure emerging from the fog emerged from the fog. Violet shivered in a shivery fashion, glancing at her brother's flailing feet, and grabbed him by the ankle so as to yank him out of the tide pool. It was an extremely dangerous puddle for non-swimmers, being at least six inches deep. Klaus sputtered and looked up at the gack.

"My, oh my, it appears to have a square head!" he cried in a high and flustered tone. This, however it may seem to appear, was actually not his "confused voice" (this voice was much deeper and sounded rather a lot like Robert Pattinson (EEEW!)). This voice was his real voice, quite like the delicate tones of the larynx of his hero, Little Lord Fauntleroy. They were extremely similar, these two English lads: both bratty, curly-blond-haired, weedy little short-arses.

"Oh no, a square-head!" Violet mused aloud. The figure reached, _removed its head_, and continued to emerge from the fog. (There was a lot of fog.) Klaus, upon seeing the figure decapitate itself, screamed and ran without thinking away from the water, to his right. Of course, opposite to the water, in the direction in which Klaus ran, was the cliff wall.

"Bang," Sunny supplied for the cliff, due its disappointing lack of sound effects. The creature replaced its square head.

"Don't kill us, please!" Violet exclaimed (she only ever spoke with exclamation marks). "!" (See what I mean?)

Klaus, peeling himself off the wall (feeling a little deluded from his confrontation with the cliff), began to scream unintelligible words. "FDDDDDOODEEDAY!" Sunny tutted, picked up her brother and sister, and placed them on their beach towel once more, whence they clutched each other and wailed.

"Number one," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "it is not mist that you see, Klaus. Your glasses need cleaning. And number two, he's wearing a hat." Sure enough, in the distance, along the sun-bathed shore of Briny Beach, there could be seen a tall figure in a hat striding towards the Baudelaire children. Occasionally the figure would sneeze and be thrown off course. To deal with these unfortunate nasal outbursts, he would appear to wipe his face with an exceedingly large handkerchief. It was so large that it appeared to be the same size as their beach towel. In fact, it was their beach towel.

"How did he get that?" wondered Klaus aloud. He couldn't think in his head, there wasn't room – too much space was taken up by respiration.

"Ah," Violet said awkwardly, "that would be my new blanket-extracting machine that I created..."

"When?" asked Sunny suspiciously.

"Uh… when your gazes were… averted," Violet muttered uncharacteristically. Words longer than five letters were foreign to her – quite literally. Violet classified as "foreign" anything that existed outside of her head, including her family, Briny Beach, the world, and indeed all that we normal (-ish) writers deem to be "reality".

Sunny took this opportunity to stand up and applaud her sister's use of a long word. Unfortunately, as she stood, wiping the tears of joy from her eyes, the children recognised the approaching hat-wearer. They breathed a collective sigh of dismay. It was Mr Piggywinkle – the Baudelaire's arch-nemesis – and banker. You may wonder why such a kind and attractive man would be an object of such hatred by the Baudelaires, especially with such a lovely name. The problem was, he took a bonus. Such was the size of this bonus that it far outweighed the size of the collective inheritances of the Baudelaire children (they had already spent this, on a left-lung replacement for their aunt Marigold. Little did they know that this implant had in fact been a cucumber – they had paid for the surgery before the passing of the new Healthcare Bill, so it had had to be the cheapest option: vegetation.).

"Odo yow," said Klaus politely.

"Odo yow," echoed Violet.

"Of what level of stature is your health today, dear arch-nemesis Mr Piggywinkle?" Sunny asked, adding, "I would shake your hand, but I despise the very ground on which you walk… as well as yourself… obviously. The ground has done nothing wrong but to aid your foolish attempts to overthrow us, possibly by bio-contamination with the common cold – don't think I haven't noticed that you always have one… though I suppose it could be allergies… oh, whatever, I'm confusing myself now – the musings of my mind discombobulate even myself. Therefore, I conclude my address, o friends, Romans, countrymen – " Klaus looked round; he couldn't see any Romans, except that armoured swimmer over there, but he couldn't possibly be a Roman… he was clearly a Greek, he was even talking Latin. Violet could not see any countrymen, apart from maybe that farmer with the Lancashire accent tilling the sand over and chewing a strand of sea grass. And neither of them could see any friends, apart from maybe Rachel, Joey, Monica, Phoebe and the one whose name no one could ever remember, even from the most dedicated of fans, among which lucky number Violet could count herself – "how do you do?"

"Fine," replied Piggywinkle to Violet.

"Fine," replied Piggywinkle to Klaus.

"Fine. How are you?" replied Piggywinkle to Sunny. Sunny shrugged, slipping on a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses and grunting incoherently. She would have driven away in a silver sports car with loud music thrumming through the streets, but she didn't have one. And she was two months old. And she couldn't drive. And there were no streets. Take your pick.

"Well, I must be getting on," said Piggywinkle. "I am a banker, you know – I have a global financial system to destroy." And he turned and walked away, his bare and hairy feet slapping the soft sands of the beach with every step. The children were just about to look at one another in a confused manner, exactly as any good story-teller would say, when Piggywinkle turned and flashed a dazzling smile at them.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" he exclaimed. "Your parents have been killed in a massive fire, that coincidentally also destroyed your entire home, all your possessions, and a rather nice milk jug that I gave them as an anniversary present from India. So you have to live with me now! Isn't that nice?"

Sunny gasped in shock and horror, but Klaus was too busy choking on his bow tie to notice and Violet was sitting alone, dribbling quietly. Nobody, not even I, your omnipresent (and schizophrenic) author(s), who has (have) full access to her empty head, knows what was going through her head. We can only guess that it was something like this: _Tree… planet… rose… moon… curtains… Raxacoricofallapatorius… Robert Pattinson… mmm… _(What the hell?) But who really knows? And who really cares? Not us. We want to carry on with the story. So anyway, while Violet daydreamed and Klaus slowly ceased to respire, Sunny was busy thrashing out a deal with Piggywinkle. She wanted ten percent of his shares in IBM and forty percent of his stock(ing)s in BP before she would go and live with him. But her efforts were useless – he simply scooped her up and put her in his car.

Sunny wailed indignantly, and Violet and Klaus followed, somewhat dreamily, attracted by the red ribbon that Piggywinkle waved in front of them. It was the start of a new era for the Baudelaires – and Sunny was the only who could reliably spell that clause (a different word, dear ignorant child, from "Klaus". "Klaus" means a foolish, whinging stuck-up Rumplestiltskin – and "clause" means "phrase". Different, see?).

But what does it matter? When you are as monumentally mindless as sixty-six point six recurring percent of what was left of the Baudelaire family was, grammar means less to you than a fluffy, silky, multi-coloured, slightly ragged, holey, discoloured, mouldy, frankly quite disgusting, beach towel. Actually, Klaus rather liked the beach towel. But he didn't tell anyone, because his mouth was full of bow tie.

**AN: Thanks for getting this far! Please review. Whether or not it made your brain melt.**


	3. Quelquefois tellotape

_**The Crap Commencement**_

**AN: So… **

Quelquefois tellotape 

It is useless for me to describe to you how Violet, Klaus and Sunny's minds were imploding as they left the seashore and ventured through the multidinous glories of Briny Beach. It was as they walked across these blessed shores that they felt the world had come to an end, the ultimate had been ultimated, the fails had failed – for if you have ever smelt hot-dog relish such as they now imbibed through their nostrils, you already know how the Baudelaire children now felt. And if you haven't, then you cannot possibly imagine it.

For the Baudelaire children it was especially terrible, as they had lost both their parents and – wait! Wait! No! It was because they could not afford relish with their hot-dogs. This is the true meaning of economising, its definition, its dénouement, and one can never fully appreciate how it feels to have to compromise one's way of living until one has had to give tomato-flavoured chemicals flavoured with chemicals and with some chemicals on the side up because one cannot afford two cents and a biopsy.

The Baudelaires, of course, had not realised that even now they had more money in the bank than, say, Guiana.

The first thing the Baudelaires noticed as they approached the ruins of their old home was the overpowering scent of burnt baking powder. It was clear from this that Sunny's entire lifetime supply of "happy powder", as she called it – or more accurately "albob" – had been the first victim of the conflagration.

Everything in the immediate vicinity of what had once been the most beautiful gingerbread cottage in the whole of Fairyland was burnt to a crisp – a gingerbread crisp…

Klaus surveyed the scene with gumdrops in his eyes. He had grown both down and up here – a side effect of his copious medications – he had spent his happy childhood in a cardboard freezer in this house – he had spent many joyous hours playing with a mushroom-flavoured teddy bear on the very crisp on which he stood – he had learnt everything he knew here – i.e. nothing.

Violet regarded what remained of her experiments in a manner reminiscent of a purple muffin. She looked at her broken, broken re-breaking machine that she had invited to get off PE for an extra term after her now broken breaking machine broke her mandible after she head-butted it, breaking it as well as her mandible. During the time in which her shattered jawbone had healed she had developed a love of soft foods and a revolutionary method of dribbling which made no noise. This whole house had been the cornerstone of her culinary lifestyle, although it must be said that her preferred method of digestion was extracellular, giving her on occasion the impression of being a large mushroom, quite like those large fungi that had lined the path up to the mansion, her constant companion in times of trouble who were always willing to lend a helping hand – or rather, mycelium. But that was all gone now, destroyed in a puff of green spores…

Sunny, however, was too busy reading the only book that had survived the fire, due to Violet's placing in the Unbeatably Destroyable Non-Laminatable Non-Laminator of all the books in the household but this, War and Peace.

_It's a good book_, Sunny mused. _Maybe I'll take on my next holiday…_

And then it hit her like a shattering wave of glass (well, I said it was shattering) – she would never again go on a holiday with her whole family. She would never again lie on the warm sand and watch her siblings splash in the sea, never again hear their cries of terror at the sight of what Violet deemed to be a "huge shark" (that is, one plankton), never again drop an ice-cream on Klaus's head and watch him lick the drips off his nose.

And then a worse, soul-breaking, heart-rending, universe-bending revelation –

Never before had she done these things either.

It was all too much to bear for poor Sunny. So she did what we can only do in these situations, that last resort, that final end. Sunny poked Klaus in the back and laughed as he flailed hopelessly, slapping his face and head repeatedly in his search for the invisible monster.

Their home destroyed and their reflections ended, the Baudelaires had to recuperate from their terrible loss in the Piggywinkle household, which was not at all agreeable to the Baudelaires' delicate sensibilities.

Mr Piggywinkle was never at home – well, he was never at home in the sense of inside. Unlike some fathers, he did not spend time in the garden, or at work, or betting, or drinking, or any other terrible thing, it was merely the case that Sunny had needed a replacement for darts practice. She had glued him to the back wall, in the garden, so as to improve her shot. By the end of the first week, the banker looked as though he had been used as a test subject for one of the most innovative hole-punchers ever invented.

Mrs Piggywinkle bought them stylish, comfortable clothes that so offended the aforementioned sensibilities (or lack thereof) of the three children that they decided to remain in their old garments, although these were now stiff with grime and smelt of such items as we could not possibly mention in print.

The two Piggywinkle children, Edible and Albatross – Mrs Piggywinkle, while recovering from the stress of childbirth, had taken on qualities not unlike those of Sunny after a multiple dose of her "albob", and had decided to name them after two of her hobbies in life, 'nom'ming and ornithology – were polite and quiet, quite the antidote to the loud and obnoxious behaviour of the elder Baudelaire children, and in fact after sharing their home for two weeks with such monstrous beings, the two sweet little Piggywinkle girls had had to be placed in a padded cell for six months due to an unfortunate accident involving a lawnmower, a pig, and several greasy spoons. It was an interesting accident, I (we?) can tell you, and had the effect of imbibing in the twins a habit of biting anything that moved. And anything that didn't, come to that. Mrs Piggywinkle cried her eyes out at the revelation that –

Wait!

…

…

…

Back to the story…

While the house was beautifully decorated, the children had their own rooms, they were well treated and well fed, their every whim was fulfilled as soon as they could voice their desire, the children were, as Sunny would put it, "applegog", or as a normal human being would say, "unhappy".

The reason for this was simple.

The Baudelaire children's faces were highly broken.

Moving swiftly on… to the horizon, which I hope is not too far away… I haven't much more memory on this stupid computer…

One evening, Mr Piggywinkle suddenly began to talk over dinner. This was a highly unusual occurrence. He was usually as taciturn as a rock, albeit with less charisma that the above, and the only sound that punctuated the family meal on ordinary nights was a loud CHOO! from the head of the table. Nobody reacted as the banker half-dragged, half-kicked the Baudelaires to his car, and then half-dragged, half-kicked his car to their next destination.

**(Cucumber: But I thought he was nice! **

**Tuskface: Or IS he? **

***Cue creepy music* **

**Cucumber: Anyway. On with the story. **

**Tuskface *drops bag of crisps on to Cucumber's head*: Take it away, maestro.) **

The Baudelaires were confused as to where the hell he was taking them, but they didn't ask, because both Violet and Klaus had taken the great majority of what was on their plates with them, in the convenient receptacles of their mouths.

Sunny, however, had not done this, but as she opened her mouth to cross-interrogate Piggywinkle, she heard a strange and fearsome cry of...

CHOO!

It appeared to come from the front seat, and by the fact that the traffic was suddenly coming _at _them rather than _with _them, and by the fact that Piggywinkle's hat had flown off into Klaus's face (considering improving both the hat and the face), Sunny deduced that Piggywinkle had sneezed, yet again.

Finally, when the explosive CHOO had subsided, Mr Piggywinkle managed to attempt to try to endeavour to explain where the hell he was taking them.

"Gargoyles," Violet interjected thoughtfully.

Klaus nodded his assent.

"I am taking you to see your only genetically modified companion in this sprawl of human and urban development in the fields of a) Art, b) Science, and c) Faces that we call a 'city'. His name is Count Fail-O."

**(Which, small children, is Olaf backwards once it's been through Tuskface's mind.) **

"What relation is he to us, exactly?"

"He is the dog-sitter of your mother's best friend's uncle's sister's daughter's ex-boyfriend's milk-delivery-man's hamster's ex-owner's ice-cream cone."

A tear sprung like a wallaby into Violet's eye with all the grace of a praying mantis on steroids.

"I had an ice-cream cone once," she mused, the soaring of violins and penguins faintly audible through her melancholy tones (Mr Piggywinkle had turned on the radio).

"What does he do for a living?" asked Sunny.

Mr Piggywinkle replied, saying, "Well... he's not an actor by trade, and he doesn't often travel around the world with various theatre companies."

"But I thought he was a counter?" Klaus asked, although grammatically it wasn't really a question – to him the world was just one huge tiddlywinks game.

There was a long silence.

Piggywinkle attempted to reach the pedals of the car. He was only five foot minus two, after all; everyday processes are difficult when you are required by law to use a booster seat.

A long time had passed when finally the car stopped.

"Rise and shine, Baudelaires," he said with an evil cackle of soap-bubbles in his voice, "it's time to go to Count Fail-O's!"

A SHORT POETIC INTERLUDE (IN CZECH)

**Kyjov – by Petr Bezruč**

_Ej, ztepili suhaji v cizmach vy, _

_ej, devcata v suknici rude _

_vzdy veselo byvalo v Kyjove, _

_vzdy veselo v Kyjove bude. _

_Tak jako to hane z vonn^ch rev, _

_tak jako ty kypis, ma sloko – _

_tak hofi ta ohniva slovacka krev, _

_tak ret pali a srsi oko. _

_Kdo chce nas bit, kdo chce nas urazit? _

_My nevime o panu zadnem _

_jak vesele dovedem zit a pit, _

_tak vesele na poli padnem. _

_..Slezske pwne_

Glorious post-modernist google translation of the above for those who don't speak Czech (fools ye be):

_Ho, graceful in Suha cizmach you,__  
__EJ, rude girls skirt__  
__always fun being in Kyjov,__  
__Always happy to be in Kyjov.__Just as it stretches from fragrance ^ ch rev__  
__kypis like you, my verse -__  
__so the fire hofi Slovacko blood__  
__Pali and the lip sparkle eye.__Who wants our bit, who wants to insult us?__  
__We do not know about Mr. no any__  
__how can we manage to live happily and drink__  
__so brightly in the field will fall.__.. Silesia pwne_

**Disclaimer: We don't own this poem or the author or Google or Your Face (though we do have it in our Face Collection). Fools.**

The first thing that the Baudelaires noticed when they tumbled out of the car was a woman with a mad red face. It matched her hair to the finest degree of purple.

"Greetings, Baudelaires," she said mysteriously, and jumped through the second story window of her house at which she had been standing. "Although I may not look like it, I am actually Obi-Wan Kenobi's stunt double. I work part-time as an undertaker, and I love gardening. Oh, and by the way, I'm telling you my entire life story for no apparent reason because I am your face."

But before the Baudelaires could answer, the door of the dolls' house next to that of Kenobi Mark Two's house opened, and a tall and furry figure emerged.

"Gack?" Sunny asked.

"No, of course not, idiot child." The scorn burned in the stranger's voice like dry ice as he skipped over and hugged Mr Piggywinkle, enveloping him in his voluminous envelope.

**What will happen next? Will Tuskface's broken finger mysteriously heal? Will Cucumber dye her hair pink? Will we ever update? **

**Read on to find out. **

**Or maybe read the past few chapters again and deduce the possibility of us being locked up before then. **


End file.
